


The Best Medicine

by niennavalier



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Not Legends of Tomorrow Compliant, Sick!Len, Sickfic, coldflash - Freeform, domestic coldflash, lets pretend the last two episodes didn't happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 15:11:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6990577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niennavalier/pseuds/niennavalier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leonard Snart doesn't get sick often, but when he does, well, it's the whole nine yards. </p><p>Good thing Barry Allen is a particularly protective and loving boyfriend.</p><p>Domestic Coldflash Sickfic Fluff</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best Medicine

**Author's Note:**

> Quick note timeline-wise: this would take place sometime after Legends season 1 and Flash season 2. Some time far enough in the future that Len isn't dead anymore (I'm in denial, deal with it) and Flashpoint is fixed (cause I can only assume that's season 3).

     Barry knew something was up since the morning. Honestly, for being a career criminal and Captain Cold on top of that, Len really was painfully obvious. Even as Barry had been rushing around early that morning – because, yes, 10:30 AM definitely did still count as the early morning – late as per usual ( _later_ , actually, especially since Len tended to cajole Barry into staying in bed with lazy, sleepy cuddles), Len’s sniffling hadn’t gone unnoticed. Nor had the wayward sneezes, Len reaching for tissues and napkins the entire morning to try and stifle them.

     Of course, Barry had brought it up, offering to call in and stay home to take care of his boyfriend, like a decent human being. Equally unsurprisingly, Len had levelled him with the best Captain Cold glare he could muster in his condition, sniffing sharply at the same time – which sort of ruined the image, in Barry’s opinion. (Though it wasn’t as if Barry would’ve been intimidated anymore anyway, even if Len had been well, honestly). Ended up with him insisting that Barry just, “Go to work. I’m fine, Scarlet. You go have fun playing hero,” the unspoken implication being that Len _wasn’t_ sick.

     They both knew better than that. But Barry had just rolled his eyes and darted off to work after leaving Len with a quick kiss. No use in trying to convince Len of anything otherwise; experience had taught him that much. For that matter, experience had also taught him that things would be different by the time he got home from work. And _that_ …well, he’d learned how to deal with. Len was probably as bad a patient as Barry was – it was just a lucky thing that being sick also made cuddling a fairly effective form of persuasion. And, honestly, Barry couldn’t complain too much about that.

     Fast forward a handful of hours, and Barry found himself working his way through the reports and cases piled up on his desk. Flash speed was helpful and all, and it wasn’t like many people – aside from Joe and Eddie – ever came to see him up here, but ever since Patty had put together the pieces herself, he’d learned to be more careful. Not rushing, in part to keep from writing more than his CSI self should know, but also so that, on the off-chance anyone _did_ end up in his lab, there wasn’t anything to suspect. Someone walking in and seeing him a little further into his work than they expected was believable; having his entire inbox emptied not ten minutes after he’d gotten to work – not so much. Still, the extra time his speed bought him, limited as it was, did give him the chance to send off texts to Len whenever he felt like it. Mostly just random stuff: things he’d thought about, or anything of any real amusement that had happened down at the Precinct. And he usually got responses (about three-quarters of the time in the form of puns) quickly enough.

     But not this time. Part of him totally meant his last text – _are you really just ignoring me cause im right and youre sick?_ – but the other part was vaguely concerned. He wouldn’t put it past Len to be out planning with the Rogues (because, Legend or not, and despite helping out Rip Hunter and Team Flash, that didn’t mean Len didn’t enjoy causing a _some_ chaos every now and again), regardless of his own wellbeing. And considering the fact that, despite it being a fairly rare occurrence, getting sick for Len usually meant the whole nine yards of whatever bug he got, Barry felt he had a right to be worried. Really, thinking more on it, planning a heist with the Rogues was tame compared to what else could happen. Barry shuddered to think of the enemies – both of their enemies, really, neither of their alter egos doing much in terms of laying low – who might just be waiting for the moment when Captain Cold’s guard was down.

     In short, the lack of texts was concerning.

     Definitely made his rounds as the Flash more anxiety-ridden, if nothing else, Barry mentally daring any metas to come out of the woodworks today. See if they stood any chance against a hero who didn’t have the time nor the patience for a fight.

     Fortunately, luck would have it that Barry didn’t have to worry at all. Not regarding the metas, nor Len’s safety.

     Flashing back home to their shared apartment the second his Flash duties were fulfilled, Barry walked in to find Len sleeping, stretched out across the couch, leaning against the cushions and snoring lightly, _Prison Break_ left playing on the TV. He huffed a sigh of relief at his worries being apparently unfounded, and he couldn’t stop the quiet smile from spreading across his face. Even passed out on the couch, cheeks flushed with fever, and still dressed as Barry had last seen him that morning – in soft flannel pants and a plain t-shirt – with the tissue box on the coffee table sitting entirely too close to him to be coincidental, all Barry could remember was the reasons why he adored this man, complete idiot he was notwithstanding. This brave, good, absolute dork of a man who turned out to be everything Barry wanted, everything he needed. (Although the dork part was something Barry could still admit to occasionally chuckling at, he wasn’t gonna lie). But it only took a couple seconds before his trance was broken, Len starting to cough and shiver slightly in his sleep, wrinkling his nose, which was pink with irritation. Barry took that as his cue, scooping him up and heading toward their room, settling Len into the warmth of the bed. The speedster stepped back and watched for a second as Len’s expression evened out again, pinched as it had been from the coughing and the sudden movement, the man fatigued enough to dip easily back into slumber. Despite being a habitually light sleeper, he hadn’t woken, and Barry was pretty sure that counted as a small victory.

     Not about to stay standing around doing nothing, Barry rushed through the rest of his nightly routine despite the relatively early hour – quick meal, even quicker shower – and clambered into bed beside Len, snaking his arms around the other man’s waist, chest pressed to Len’s back.

     “…Barry?” Len murmured, turning and burying himself in Barry’s chest, more asleep than awake, Barry making enough room for him to do so. His voice was off, affected by the congestion or…yup. He sniffed loudly a couple times, nose clearly more stuffed now than it had been before Barry had left.

     “Yeah, Len. It’s me,” Barry soothed, shushing him as he started mumbling again, “It’s okay. Just go back to sleep. It’s fine.” He felt Len nod slowly against his chest then curl further into Barry’s warm embrace, coughing and snuffling all the while. And as Len settled down again, the tension draining from his muscles as sleep reclaimed him, Barry tightened his hold ever so slightly, protectively, making sure Len felt safe, felt okay (aside from being sick, of course). He bent his neck to kiss Len softly at his temple, feeling a hint of feverish heat radiating off the skin there. Then he moved to press another gentle kiss on the top of Len’s head, resting his head there, and beginning to drop off into sleep himself.

* * *

 

     It was the sudden and almost painful need to cough that woke Len up. He was still half in and half out of sleep when the first cough forced its way out of his lungs, but the rather violent fit that followed was enough to wake him up fully. It left him fighting to catch his breath – desperate for air, but not careless enough to a deep intake lest he bring about _another_ painful fit – and, after it passed, Len groaned, letting himself sink facedown into the mattress.

     God, he felt like shit. Just disgusting and wrong and _tired_ , despite having slept for who-knew-how-long. Everything was just sore enough to be uncomfortable, and his chest felt tight, bordering on hurting from the bout of coughing. His nose was stuffed completely, just making it that much harder to breathe, his head absolutely _throbbed_ , and he couldn’t help but shiver, even buried beneath the blankets as he was.

     Which…left him wondering when and how exactly he’d ended up in the bedroom. Last he remembered, he’d been stuck on the couch, blowing and wiping his increasingly more irritated nose, while stifling sneezes and coughs and sniffles, and trying to stave off the growing exhaustion he’d felt wearing him down the entirety of the day. Generally, all he remembered was feeling miserable – albeit, not as miserable as today – and eventually letting fatigue get the best of him. After that, his memory got fuzzy, muddled in his feverish haze, though there’s something he thought he could recall: the feeling of warm arms around him.

     Barry.

     Len cracked an eye open, tilting his head just enough to squint at the digital clock in the room, forcing himself to focus enough to make out the time. He sighed through his mouth and closed his eyes again.

     Barry, who was at work by now, if he had enough sense in him.

     He rolled himself gently onto his side with a couple coughs, crossing his arms and curling in on himself for whatever extra warmth that might provide him, definitely missing Barry at this point, even if he himself would’ve insisted Barry leave, had he been awake earlier.

     It was only a few minutes later when there was the sound of the front door opening, which had Len sitting bolt upright on instinct. An instinct he regretted not half a second later as he squeezed his eyes shut against the nausea and sense of vertigo, trying to regain control of his stomach and equilibrium both. Which was no easy task, considering he’d felt dreadful enough laying down – sitting up wasn’t making things any better. But the footsteps didn’t stop, coming closer instead, and Len staggered to his feet to find his gun, doing his best to ignore the dizziness in his head, determined to take out any unwelcome intruders, no matter how completely unwell he was. At least, until the door started to open, light which had been blocked by the curtains now seeping in, leaving Len entirely vulnerable, and…

     “What’re you doing out of bed?”

     Barry’s question wasn’t even close to loud – it’s actually pretty thoughtfully quiet – but it drove a bolt through Len’s head, the explosion of pain making it throb even _harder_ , and he couldn’t do anything but stumble backwards into a sitting position on the bed again, one hand clutched at the point above his temple as he gritted his teeth together.

      “Scarlet,” he rasped, hating the congestion in his voice, how much sicker it makes him sound, on top of everything else, “what’re you doing here?” By the end of the sentence, he realized how much it hurt to just talk, his throat grating with every word, burning even when he swallowed afterwards. Perfect.

     “What’s it look like? I’m staying to take care of you.” Barry set down the plastic bag he’d been carrying and was suddenly crouching in front of Len, who blinked confusedly. Had he Flashed over? He was too out of it to tell. Meanwhile, Barry reached out a hand, feeling Len’s cheek and forehead, deeper worry blossoming in his eyes while Len just did everything he could to not make a blatant show of savoring Barry’s touch. Which felt _cool_ against his flushed face, definitely not a good thing. “You know your fever’s gotten _higher_ , right? You shouldn’t be up.”

     “Barry, I told you yesterday, I’m fi-“ Len’s words quickly degraded into coughs, leaving him hunched over and breathless. Worse than the ones that had woken him up, even, partially because now they were actively tearing at his sore throat, too, and somehow, that made _everything_ feel like it hurt worse.

     “You’re what?” Barry teased lightly as Len shot him his best tired glare, trying to sniff indignantly, only to fail spectacularly when his stuffed nose wouldn’t allow it. Instead, all he got for the effort was assaulted by a series of sneezes, directed into the crook of his elbow. Within a second, Barry had reappeared, holding a tissue out to him, which Len took, the newly opened box sitting on the nightstand not going unnoticed, nor unappreciated. He blew his nose, hard, a couple times, eyes squeezed shut as Barry teased again, “Think you should go figure out what ‘fine’ means, Len.”

     Len glanced up at Barry, smirking through his breathlessness from behind the tissue. “Not very hero-like, Barry, making fun of your enemies when they’re down.” His voice was muffled, which he was glad about; it hid the congestion, if only a bit. If only the same could be said for the scratchiness in his throat, which had only gotten even worse with the talking.

     “Funny, hearing that from Captain Cold himself.” Len dropped his hand down, appreciating Barry’s quiet laughter. “Seriously, though, Len,” Barry went on, a little more serious, reaching up to cup Len’s cheek, but still with that annoyingly endearing smile on his face and a light in his eyes, “you don’t have to pretend like you’re not sick. You’re not gonna fool me anyway. I already went and got medicine and stuff for soup and whatever else might help you feel better. I’m staying here, and I’m gonna take care of you. Not ‘cause I feel like I have to; it’s ‘cause I _want_ to. Okay?”

     At Barry’s words, there’s a tightness in his chest that’s definitely not from being sick, and Len looked down at his hands. How did he, Leonard Snart of all people, get so, _so_ lucky, not just to have Barry Allen in his life, but to have Barry Allen _in his life, here_ , actually caring about him? He didn’t know how it happened, but he does know he’s endlessly grateful. So he nodded in response to Barry’s question, coughing weakly before smiling at the way Barry’s face lit up.

     “Good. I’m gonna go get the soup started, and actually lemme go get you more blankets first – you’re shivering!” It’d been a detail Len had pointedly chosen to ignore (as well as the pun opportunities, which would’ve involved speaking – long sentences hurt more than he’d like to admit), though it was getting harder to pretend like the cool air wasn’t freezing his bare arms. Didn’t help when Barry was clearly not gonna ignore it either, guiding Len back beneath the sheets and propping him up against the pillows. Barely another second had passed before the speedster was back again, this time arranging the promised blankets around Len’s shoulders, across his lap. And after assuring himself that Len had taken the proper meds, he looked about ready to speed off again, do whatever came next in his plan to make his boyfriend feel better, but didn’t get an inch away before Len’s hand caught his wrist, and Barry looked back.

     “Stay.”

     Barry’s eyes went softer than usual, and there wasn’t even a moment’s hesitation before he kicked off his shoes, climbing onto the bed beside Len, who snuggled into his side, unable to help his nose twitching. Pretty soon, Barry’s arm was wrapped protectively around him, Len resting his head on Barry’s shoulder.

     Between the fever, the exhaustion, the rhythmic circles being rubbed into his skin, it takes a whole twenty-eight seconds for him to fall asleep, contentedly pressed up against Barry’s side.

**Author's Note:**

> By the way, yes, the summary is basically my headcanon about Len getting sick - I've reread all the sickfics I could find and this is what happened. Also, the little bit of Barry being worried about Len being safe is actually a little nod to my original plan, which was gonna include Lewis, hypothermia, a plan to kill the Flash in front of Len and generally more angst and hurt/comfort rather than fluff.
> 
> Don't say I never do anything nice (also, blame Legends. The last episode pissed me off so I decided not to do any angst. Although the original drafting stuff still exists. Just cause.)


End file.
